by Audrey Hart
I feel silly for thinking that, but then again, it‘s not like I‘m that deluded.
It‘s not like I‘m imagining I could have hooked up with one of those toga-clad make-believe gods. Better to crush on someone who once lived than someone dreamed up by desperate superstitious people.
I text Uncle Alex: Walking.
Skipping actually, but nobody has to know.
It‘s always easy to spot Uncle Alex and Aunt Sophia at an airport. You look for the most garish, beaten-up van you can find. Then you look for the middle-age couple in matching khaki getups. They look like they‘re going to a costume party as Mr. and Mrs. Indiana Jones.
I walk over to the van and climb in the back. Alex is driving and Sophia is on the phone coordinating the arrival of an intern. They have a nice way of sensing when I want to be left alone.
It‘s wonderful to just kick back in the van and look out the window and get to know my summer home. From the outside, Heraklion Airport actually looks like an ancient coliseum, as imagined by the architects who build theme parks. And as we venture into the surrounding city, I get the nervous sensation I get every time I arrive at a dig. I remember my first dig in Hawaii, landing and being so disturbed by the fast-food chains. Alex and Sophia wanted to know why I was being so quiet and I said that, from the sky, Maui looked wild with mountains and lush grass, but all that I saw must have been an illusion. They told me to close my eyes and wait. And I did; I was exhausted. When they woke me up, I could barely speak—volcanoes, wild palm trees and sun so hot it felt like you could hold it in your hands.
At the edge of the dig site, we pull up to a roadblock. A man with a clipboard and a long, skinny beard approaches the car. I know by now who this guy is; he‘s a guard. Usually, we dig on protected lands, places where tourists aren‘t allowed to go and locals avoid because they respect their history and they don‘t want to build a house or a Taco Bell there. As my aunt and uncle small-talk with the clipboard guy, I look up at the tall grass waving ahead in the distance and I feel like a runner about to reach the finish line. I am so focused on the road ahead that when my uncle shifts the clunky van into gear, I fall back. Aunt Sophia and Uncle Alex share a little laugh, and then something strange happens.
Aunt Sophia squeezes his hand. They never hold hands, at least not in front of me. A wave of loneliness sweeps over me. I gaze out the window and take in the new land. The trees all look thirsty but stubborn, like if you sprayed them with a hose, the water would come splashing back at you.
They are jagged and enormous. If I were a little kid, I would be having nightmares tonight.
It‘s all just so rambling and disorganized. I spot a patch of electric green grass, almost like the area rug in the common room at school. And why? It makes no sense. Walls of rock spring out of nowhere and I grow dizzy. In a place like this, how do you even know where to begin digging?
―What do you think, Zoe?‖ Alex asks.
―It‘s wild.‖
―You have to be very careful here,‖ Sophia says. ―These bushes, most of them have thorns.‖
―I can tell.‖
―And you can‘t go wandering off into the valleys. The paths are not well marked.‖
―I know. Because tourists aren‘t allowed.‖ Aunt Sophia catches my eye in the rearview mirror and smiles. ―Is there anything you don’t know, Zoe?‖
―No. Obviously I know everything.‖
What a stupid thing to say: ―I know everything.‖ There is so much I don‘t know. I don‘t know where I‘ll go to college. Heck, I don‘t even know what I‘ll write my admissions essay about.
It‘s irrational of me to blush, but I do, because thinking about college makes me think about the ridiculous essay I‘d started writing the other night.
One of my dream schools demanded that all prospective students answer this question in the form of an essay: Who are you and what makes you different from everyone you know?
Applications aren‘t due for a long time, but I‘m really excited about college and I really didn‘t want to go to the Junior Jam on the West Lawn, so I sat on my bed in the empty dorm trying to answer that question. I started out writing about archeology (what else?) and then my dislike of Facebook until soon enough I‘d managed to write the dorkiest sentence of all time: Feelings are just plain not as lasting as stuff. You can’t dig up love that’s 2,000 years old. But you can dig up a hunk of clay.
I cringe just thinking about it. I couldn‘t even get a job writing birthday messages for a greeting card company.
―Earth to Zoe.‖
And then, in a flash, I forget all about my essay. We have arrived at the dig. This is my favorite part of summer. The tents are up. Metal bowls of hummus and carrots are catching sun and blinding me, and the yellow-T-shirt-clad volunteers are buzzing about, transporting pickaxes, blueprints, water jugs.
I am home.
Aunt Sophia turns and smiles at me. ―Zoe, we have some very exciting news.‖
I look at her. Then I look at her hand, still locked in Uncle Alex‘s. I panic. I‘m always afraid they might have a baby. It‘s not that I don‘t like kids or anything. But a baby can‘t go on a dig, right? I swallow.
Sophia laughs. ―Relax. I‘m not pregnant.‖
―So what is it?‖
She turns away from me and looks ahead at the base camp, which I now realize has an energy that‘s different from what I‘ve experienced on past digs. One of the volunteers is gasping and waving her arms, as if she‘s witnessed some kind of miracle.
―Guys, seriously. What‘s the news?‖
Uncle Alex breaks away from Sophia and grabs his keys. He turns and looks at me. ―You‘ll see.‖
Chapter 3
It must be a hundred degrees in the tent when I wake up the next morning, covered in sweat. I love that first morning at a new site. I‘m disoriented but safe. I‘m groggy and jet-lagged and there‘s that wonderful moment when it‘s unclear where in the world I am or how I got here.
Naturally, Aunt Sophia says that is no excuse for being late. But she should know by now that this is the only day of the summer that I get all girly. It‘s like the first day of school. And given that this dig is pretty much the biggest dig of my life and theirs, I think I‘m allowed.
They came here hoping to unearth an ancient village, but what they found was an ancient temple. I haven‘t seen it yet, but everyone at dinner last night used the same adjectives: mind-blowing, jaw-dropping, bigger than the White House, larger than life. Anytime I‘m about to get my mind blown and feel my jaw drop, I‘d like to look my best. And okay, this isn‘t just about the giant temple. Much as I hate to admit it, this is also about boys.I‘m finally seventeen. I‘m going to be a senior. So if there was ever a summer when I might actually have a little romantic adventure, this would be the one. And the adventure is more likely to happen if I‘m wearing something cute. The college students were off camping last night, so I didn‘t meet any of them.
I‘ve never had a summer boyfriend, but Alex and Sophia keep saying that this year‘s crop of students is really special.
And two of these special individuals are boys. I mean, you never know.
Maybe the discovery of the temple is some kind of omen. Maybe this is the summer that everything comes together.
And maybe white pants are the key.
On a rare excursion to the mall in town near Greeley, I let CeeCee pick out clothes for me.
They‘re impractical and kind of silly, but maybe that‘s a good thing. I slip on my new white cargo pants. I‘ve never owned white pants before, and they‘re crisp and tighter than my khakis. The tank top she selected looks about three sizes too small, but once I layer it with a tan linen shirt, I feel a little more like me. I flip my hair and rub straightening gel into my scalp, through the cowlick and down to the ends. There‘s no mirror in the tent, so I grab my iPhone and snap a picture of myself.
The mascara I put on makes me look kind of clownish, but at the same time, I feel more sophisticated
. Good enough for Aristotle…maybe.
It‘s my bad luck that Aunt Sophia happens to be passing the moment I exit the tent. She stops walking. Her eyes bulge.
―Zoe, where is the party?‖
―Stop it.‖
―White pants? Are you kidding?‖
―They‘re cotton. Anything will wash out.‖ She shakes her head and approaches me. She whispers, ―You‘re wasting your time. The college students aren‘t back from their night away. No boys for you just yet, Zoe.‖
My cheeks flare up and I want to go change immediately. Am I that obvious? I look around. Everyone else is in dark pants. I could kill CeeCee.
Hanging my head, I start back into my tent, but Uncle Alex intercepts me.
―Come on, Zoe.‖
―I have to change.‖
―No you don‘t. But take off the tag. Don‘t want to litter in the largest ancient temple discovered in the last hundred years.‖ I rip off the tag and toss it in the trash. Forget boys. History is here now.
I don‘t understand where all this sand came from. We‘ve been plowing and huffing and puffing and it feels like we‘re not getting anywhere.
Walking through the sand feels like walking through snow in stilettos.
―Okay, won‘t be long now,‖ Uncle Alex says.
―You said that an hour ago.‖
―Nonsense. An hour ago you were having a fashion show.‖ Uncle Alex motions for me to grab a branch to steady myself as I follow him over a large, lopsided rock. When I land on the other side of the rock, I see it for the first time. The site. For a moment there are no words. Nobody was exaggerating and my mind is blown and my eyes are full and my jaw is somewhere beneath my boots.
―Aren‘t you going to say something?‖
―Wow.‖
But ―wow‖ doesn‘t cut it. The massive beige block is the most daunting thing I‘ve ever seen. I want to run down the hill and explore every inch, but I also want to stand here and keep taking it in because, from afar, it‘s astounding. It‘s the definition of ancient.
―One thousand BC,‖ Uncle Alex says softly. ―The oldest Hellenic temple ever discovered.
Until now, everyone thought Greek temples were built no earlier than the sixth century. It upsets the entire historical record.‖ He looks like he might cry, and I don‘t blame him. My eyes are welling up too. Suddenly, I have to get closer right now. Only I forgot the worst thing about adults.
It‘s like they have a sixth sense and can tell exactly when you desperately want to do something—and then they have to block you from doing it by giving you a lecture. Here we go.
―Number one: No iPhone.‖
―No iPhone.‖
Uncle Alex has a thing against iPhones. He‘s convinced that I photograph every single precious artifact I cross paths with and that I use a flash and that the flash destroys the integrity of their findings. So two years ago, he initiated a strict policy: No smart phones on site.
―Number two: ‗No entry‘ means no entry. You obey all red tape.
Understood?‖
―As always.‖
―Good. Number three: Take your time hiking down. The sand is very malleable and I don‘t want you falling and spraining an ankle.‖
―Uncle Alex, I‘m fine.‖
―And be sure to drink the water in your pack. I don‘t want you getting dehydrated.‖
―I don‘t have water in my pack.‖
He smirks. I unzip my backpack to find two bottles of water, granola bars and single-serving packs of almonds and macadamia nuts.
I groan. ―I‘m seventeen years old, Uncle Alex. I love Aunt Sophia but sometimes she treats me like a baby.‖
He unzips his own backpack, revealing a similar bounty of snacks, ―Me too, kiddo. Now then, off you go.‖
I‘m not a hugger, but I throw my arms around him. ―Thank you, Uncle Alex.‖
―Have fun,‖ he tells me.
I set off at a quick pace. Nobody can see me so I let myself smile broadly. I feel like the luckiest girl in the world. And though I would never admit it, I‘m grateful for my aunt‘s snack attack. I‘m also grateful that Alex and Sophia are the kind of guardians who look the other way.
They know me. They know I have my iPhone. In fact, it was bulging out of my pocket as I stood there promising I didn‘t have it. They also know that I never saw a piece of red tape I didn‘t want to cross. But they trust me. They know that—
―Whoa!‖
I slip and land flat on my back. The sandbank was steeper than I realized. I lie there a minute and stare at the jarringly blue sky. I can‘t help but grin. Greece is growing on me, with its tricky terrain, its startling color scheme and up there, way to the left, a mountain that looks like something out of one of those mythology cartoon books you get when you‘re a little kid. I can understand how the ancient people were where I am now, flat on their backs, studying the sharp lines of the rock, the impossibly opaque clouds, and believing that gods were up there, ethereal yet tangible all at once.―Greece,‖ I say, even though no one is around to hear me. ―I love you.‖
―I love you too.‖
I hear him before I see him. His voice is husky and close. I bolt upright and scan the area but there‘s no one around. Then a few palm fronds swish forward, confirming that I‘m not alone.
I brush my hair out of my eyes, looking for him. Any second now, he will appear.
Whoever he is.
Chapter 4
Darren has shaggy brown hair and an unruly beard that makes him look older than the Columbia junior archeology major he is. Pulling me up from the sand, he grins and tells me that my aunt sent him to help me with the excavation.
―I don‘t need anyone‘s help,‖ I tell him, brushing myself off.
―Just because you‘re related to the two greatest working archeologists in the world doesn‘t make you Lara Croft.‖
―I know my way around a dig site,‖ I retort. ―I‘ve spent the past six summers doing this.
I‘ve got more experience than you do.‖ He stops and eyes me. ―You know, you‘re kinda cute when you get defensive.‖
―I‘m not being defensive,‖ I hiss, though I can feel the color rush to my cheeks.
―There you go again,‖ he says and winks at me.
I hate Columbia Darren. And not in the way girls hate boys because they like them. When he first said the ―L‖ word, it seemed like one of those magic moments. What a story to tell CeeCee: I have a boyfriend! He‘s older! The first words he ever said to me were ―I love you!‖ But everything he‘s said since then has been semi-obnoxious. I will never fall in love. At least not this summer, anyway.
I rush off toward the excavation site with Darren following close behind me. I walk as fast as possible without actually breaking into a run.
―Hey!‖ he calls out after me. ―Your aunt said you have water.‖
―I do,‖ I reply without turning around.
―Well I‘m really thirsty.‖
With a big, annoyed sigh, I reach into my backpack. One of the waters is dented from the fall. Perfect. He takes off his stupid hat, which looks like it came from a gift shop at the American Museum of Natural History, and dumps the bottle over his head. I guess I‘m supposed to swoon or something.
―Are you all right?‖ he asks.
―I‘m just hungry. And a little dehydrated.‖ Sheepishly, he offers me the mostly empty bottle. Here we are, standing at the foot of the temple. We are the only two people in this section.
Isn‘t this what romance is all about? If CeeCee were in my shoes right now, she would be enthralled with him, take all his little jabs as playful attempts at flirting.
―So what else are you into…besides this?‖ he asks.
―Besides archeology?‖
There‘s a nervous sincerity in his eyes that wins me over for a second.
Throw him a bone, I tell myself. Be normal.
―Well, I‘m obsessed with Sex and the City.‖ It‘s a lie. But CeeCee is obsessed, so I
can hold my own in a conversation about it.
―You are?‖
I shrug. The heat is getting to me. I want to go into the temple. I feel dizzy and exhausted.
Why is it so hard to talk to boys? I mean, it‘s hard to talk to girls too, which is probably why I don‘t exactly have a long list of close friends. But it just seems like kids are so quick to put you in a little box. Then again, I‘m not being myself either. I want to run. Aristotle would be easier to talk to than Columbia Darren.
―Why are you so surprised?‖ I ask.
He shrugs and slips on his sunglasses. I can‘t see his eyes anymore. ―You just seemed different, I guess. Whatever. You wanna go in?‖ I let him lead the way into the temple, even though I should be leading because I‘ve studied the map.